


Desvelado

by orphan_account



Series: threads of memory [5]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, mei gets some backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Desvelado(adj.) Unable to sleep; sleepless.
Relationships: Lan Fan & Ling Yao, Lan Fan/Ling Yao, Mei Chan | May Chang & Lan Fan, Mei Chan | May Chang & Ling Yao
Series: threads of memory [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883734
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Desvelado

**Author's Note:**

> How dare Mei not have a backstory! How dare I have to be the one to write it!

After a week of traveling through the desert, Mei decided she liked it even less than she had the first time she had visited it.

First of all, there were the camels. Mei had thought that they would make the journey less tiresome—after all, she had had to go on foot before, and that trip had taken nearly two months. At first, she had been all for the idea and had immediately christened her camel Sying Tao. After a few hours of careful deliberation, she had named Ling Yao’s camel Biming and Lan Fan’s camel Jun Lee. 

However, she quickly decided that Nuisance 1, Nuisance 2, and Nuisance 3 were more apt names. Sying Tao was smellier than Mei personally thought any camel had the right to be. In addition, she often trod in Jun Lee’s fecal matter, which was exuded much too often. Biming snorted rather violently every few minutes, causing his entire body to shudder without warning. And all three of them were slobbery, temperamental, and downright disgusting beasts.

Then there was the fact that Mei was merely an accompaniment to Ling Yao and his bodyguard. She had almost insisted on going back separately, then had decided that the trip might be marginally more bearable if there were two humans other than herself present. As lovely a company as Xiao Mei was, she couldn’t carry on a conversation very well. 

However, Xiao Mei seemed to be the best company in the group after all. Lan Fan was almost completely silent, only speaking when Ling asked her a question. He talked enough for all three of them, although he peppered his speeches with terrible jokes about everything from turtles to hourglasses. It was beginning to wear on Mei’s nerves, and she wondered if she could take another month of his company without unleashing all of her knives at once, Emperor Apparent or no. To her surprise, she found her heart going out to Lan Fan (something it did not do very often), who probably had to put up with him every _day_ for _hours_ on end. She had gotten a taste of what that was like over the past few weeks, and she didn’t know how or why Lan Fan didn’t simply impale him with a kunai and be done with it. 

“I’ve got one!” Ling abruptly shouted from his lofty perch on Biming. Lan Fan started violently and nearly fell off her own camel.

“Young Lord?”

He turned to her with an enormous grin. Mei sighed. Not _another_ horribly idiotic joke.

“How does the ocean say hello?”

Silence. Both she and Lan Fan stared resolutely ahead, united for once in their current distaste of Ling’s company.

“It waves!” Ling spread his arms wide as if waiting for applause. All this elicited was another snort from Biming. His face fell. “Oh, everyone’s a critic.”

“Have you ever even _seen_ the ocean, Yao?” Mei asked shrewdly.

“That’s not the point,” he huffed.

Lan Fan looked down and sighed.

“Aha! Was that a smile I saw, Lan Fan? Did I finally elicit a slight expression of mirth from you?” Ling’s face split into an enormous grin.

Her face remained stony. “Of course not, Young Lord.”

“I think so,” he singsonged, leaning closer to her. “I think you smiled.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“You _most certainly_ did.”

Lan Fan turned toward him. Whatever her expression was, it must have been something dark. He hurriedly leaned away and started muttering something that sounded suspiciously similar to _why did I have to travel with such scary women_.

—

Another thing Mei hated about deserts was the frankly terrifying temperatures. She was forcibly reminded of this fact nearly every second of the day and night. When the sun was high, the heat pressed down on all sides, burning their skin and requiring them to set up camp so Lan Fan’s automail didn’t…do whatever overheated automail did. Mei had absolutely no idea how the metal arm worked and didn’t particularly care.

But at night, the temperature cooled enough to crack her lips painfully and cause her to shiver even in the layered desert robes. Xiao Mei would curl into a little shivering ball just over her heart, but the petite panda’s meager body heat did little to warm her mistress.

The only one who seemed to hate the deplorable weather more than she did was Lan Fan. Her automail became either blisteringly hot or frigidly cold depending on the time of day, and Mei could tell that her shoulder was in great pain. Ling noticed it too, apparently, and whenever he saw Lan Fan in any visible pain, he would insist they make camp until she could travel again. One would think that Lan Fan would be grateful for this arrangement, but to Mei’s utter confusion, she often protested the stops, saying that they needed to get back to Xing as soon as humanly possible. Mei had once pointed out that shouldn’t the proper term be “as soon as _camel-ly_ possible,” since their camels were the ones doing all the work, and had gotten a dark look for her efforts. She would _never_ understand the older girl’s rush, Mei decided. It wasn’t like any of the _other_ Imperial Cousins could’ve gotten something like a Philosopher’s Stone. They could take as long as they liked, although she did want to get back to Xing relatively quickly, if only to finally have some bearable weather and put her feet on stable, non-shifting ground.

And to get rid of these camels.

Sying Tao chose that moment to lift her tail and dispense a truly horrifying amount of camel feces on the sand. Biming snorted again, nearly throwing Ling off. Lan Fan glared at her camel as if daring it to make a move. It stared placidly back underneath unreasonably long eyelashes.

“My first order as Emperor,” panted Ling, clinging onto a violently snorting Biming, “Will be to euthanize these three.”

“My camel seems to be much better behaved than yours,” Lan Fan said, staring quizzically at Jun Lee.

“That’s because it’s scared of you, as any camel--or human, for that matter--should be. Apparently, my stellar personality is not winning over this beast.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Mei murmured.

“I like to think of myself as less of a frightening camel-driver, and more of an…assertive camel-whisperer.” Lan Fan said, completely straight-faced.

“Well, could you come over and _camel-whisper_ out whatever demon seems to be possessing mine?” Ling asked, disgruntled. Biming snorted again, as if to punctuate the statement.

Lan Fan pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, my powers are quite selective, Young Lord. I do not think that they extend to demon-expelling.”

Mei stared at Lan Fan in shock. Had she just made a _joke_ ? The sweltering temperature must have finally gotten to her. She furrowed her brow and slipped into the Dragon’s Pulse. No, there was nothing wrong with her qi. Was it even _possible_ for her to make a joke? What was happening?

Ling seemed to be in a similar state of disbelief. He was staring hard at Lan Fan, as if trying to see inside her head through the sheer power of his focused stare. Mei personally thought that gaping-mouthed disbelief wasn’t an expression the Emperor Apparent should wear. He should at least close his mouth--he wasn’t a trout.

Lan Fan looked extraordinarily uncomfortable under his gaze. Perhaps it was her imagination or the sun’s heat, but Lan Fan seemed to be _blushing_. “Young Lord?”

He shook his head as if to clear it. “Hm? Sorry.” It might have been Mei’s imagination, but he seemed to be blushing _too._

_Just what was going on?_

—

They finally stopped for the night at the crest of a dune identical to the thousands of others surrounding them. Mei didn’t know what made this particular lump of sand desirable over the countless other lumps of sand scattered about, but she didn’t complain--after all, rest was rest, and she wasn’t in the mood for being purposefully difficult. If she wanted to be difficult, Ling and Lan Fan would know.

Oh, they would know.

Mei slid off Sying Tao with a small groan, legs nearly buckling underneath her as they touched (relatively) solid ground for the first time in hours. Her entire body was sore, and her back hurt horribly from having to hunch over the saddle all day. Xiao Mei scrambled up her robes and perched on her shoulder, resuming her usual position. 

Jun Lee lifted her tail. Lan Fan managed to leap out of the way just as another pile of dung hit the sand. “Disgusting beast,” Mei thought she heard Lan Fan mutter under her breath. Kicking some sand over the pile, Lan Fan began to unload her bulging saddlebags while Ling did the same. They had divided the cargo as well as could be expected--Mei carried the water, Lan Fan carried food and cooking utensils, and Ling carried more food and the tightly folded canvas tent. To Mei’s delight, the immigration office had managed to provide one fold-out tent along with a wok, a small pot, three small bowls, and three sets of chopsticks. She suspected one of those high-ranking military people that Alphonse was close to had provided them.

Lan Fan executed a deep bow (how she did it when her entire body was sore, Mei had no idea). “Young Lord, I must hunt. I shall be back before dusk.” Then she was gone—just vanished into the rapidly growing shadows. Exactly _how_ or _why_ Lan Fan could run almost inhumanly fast when she wanted to was beyond Mei, but she was glad of the bodyguard’s willingness to hunt. Week-old jerky and dried mushrooms weren’t exactly an ideal meal.

Ling sighed. Mei guessed (correctly) that he didn’t like Lan Fan’s tendency to work as much as she could until she ran herself into the ground (or into the sand, in this case.) “Mei, I can set up the tents and feed the camels if you can build a fire and cook.”

She grunted in response. As long as whatever she had to do didn’t require too much physical activity, she was fine. Earlier in their journey, it might have been insulting to have a princess of Xing reduced to a mere cook, but she had quickly given up honor in favor of survival in this hellhole of a desert. After all, if the Emperor Apparent could feed dried saltgrass to a bunch of smelly camels, the seventeenth princess of Xing could certainly find it in herself to make stew.

True to her word, Lan Fan returned right before the sun disappeared behind the sand dunes, dragging the carcass of a desert ibex behind her. She looked a bit worse for wear, with her dark hair all but free of its normal topknot and her black gi covered in sand and smudged with animal blood. 

“An entire ibex!” Ling crowed, throwing himself into a startled Lan Fan’s arms. “Lan Fan, you are absolutely incredible!”

The poor girl had promptly turned bright crimson, stuttering and stammering while trying to politely detach herself from Ling’s enthusiastic embrace. Mei hid a smile. 

Before long, she had whipped up a quick stew with the ibex meat and some of the hated dried mushrooms. Ling ate much more than his fair share, stuffing his cheeks impossibly large with chunks of meat and mushroom and looking back and forth between the Mei and Lan Fan as if daring them to stop him. 

“I’ll take first watch,” Lan Fan said quietly, after washing out the bowls and pot as best she could.

Mei was entirely content with this arrangement, but it seemed like Ling disagreed. “You’ve just run yourself ragged finding us dinner, and now you want to stay up half the night? Give me a break,” he scoffed. “You’re sleeping first. I can take the first watch.”

Lan Fan looked stricken. “Young Lord, it isn’t proper—”

“We’re not in Xing yet, Lan Fan,” Ling said, crossing his arms. He looked like he was using every inch of his superior height to get Lan Fan to back down. “We’re in the middle of a desert. And I don’t think tradition has to always apply here.”

Lan Fan and Mei both opened their mouths to protest at the same time, but Ling silenced them both with an upraised hand. “If it’s really that important to you, Mei can take first watch. But _you_ are sleeping, no matter what.”

 _“First watch?”_ Mei was equal parts surprised and insulted.

Ling scowled at her. “Mei,” he said warningly.

She scowled back, knowing Xiao Mei was doing the same. Ling’s eyes narrowed. Lan Fan looked extremely uncomfortable.

Mei considered stomping her foot, then decided that action would have considerably less impact on this blasted sand. “ _Fine_ ,” she snapped. Making sure to kick up more sand than was really necessary, she made her way over to the very top of the dune and plopped down to sulk. If they thought she was acting like a child, they would be right—she _was_ only twelve, after all. She _deserved_ the chance to make a fuss sometimes, dammit.

As it turned out, first watch was _extraordinarily_ boring. Watching sand dunes for four hours wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world, probably second only to a Court meeting on taxes in the level of monotony. The only thing even remotely exciting was watching a jerboa scurry around their campsite. She would have dropped off several times (and for good reason, too) were it not for Xiao Mei, who nipped her every time she started to fall asleep. The little traitor.

After her four hours had passed, she stomped over to the tent. Right—the only effect stomping had in a desert was getting sand in one’s shoes. That was another thing to look forward to about Xing—the Chang palace had lovely hardwood floors, perfect for all kinds of petulant stomping if the need arose. “Get up. Your turn,” she said, none too quietly. There was no answer. Mei (gently!) kicked the side of the tent. “Get _up_.” She would have been more polite, but being awake for four hours straight with nothing better to do than watch the actions of little desert rats did things to a person.

Still no answer. 

Thoroughly grumpy now, Mei employed her secret weapon _guaranteed_ to get even the heaviest sleeper to awaken: Xiao Mei. Grinning evilly, she dispensed the tiny panda into the mouth of the tent and waited.

When no pained squawks emerged, Mei poked her head between the flaps. Ling was lying on his side on the very left side of the tent, snoring loudly under a thin wool blanket. Xiao Mei was sniffing at him hopefully, but there was no sign of Lan Fan. She felt the floor of the tent. There was no heat at all; Lan Fan hadn’t even slept here.

“Now, where could she have run off to…” Mei muttered to herself, tapping her knee to call Xiao Mei back. Dipping into the Dragon’s Pulse, she tried to locate Lan Fan’s qi. Catching a faint presence of ink and mercury to her right, she left the tent and started walking in that direction, scowling. How _dare_ she try and skip out on her watch! If Mei had to suffer, Lan Fan had to too!

Any reprimands died on her lips when she spotted Lan Fan. The girl was sitting cross-legged on the top of a sand dune, clutching a golden urn and talking softly. Moonlight glinted off of the hammered metal of the urn and the plates of her automail.

In the urn were her grandfather’s ashes.

They had cremated Fu just before entering the desert, next to a small pond in a stubbly wheatgrass field just at the edge of the border. All three of them knew it wasn’t even close to the send-off the old warrior deserved, but they couldn’t very well carry his body all the way back to Xing to have a proper burial. A gold urn with an alkahestrically sealed lid served as a temporary container until Lan Fan, as his only living descendant, could bury him, as per tradition. 

Mei hesitated, wondering if this was something she should be present for. If she took a step in either direction, she knew Lan Fan would hear her, even on this soft sand. So she froze in place, unable and a bit unwilling to keep her ears from listening. 

“Yes, Grandfather, the Young Lord is just as uncooperative as ever. He wouldn’t let me take first watch again. Even though ever since we started back, I can’t sleep, and it would be so much easier for me to watch the whole night. Mei Chang--remember her? He made her take first watch instead, and she wasn’t very happy about that. But if I told the Young Lord I can’t sleep, he’d just worry even more.” She let out a soft laugh. “We both know that it’s my job to worry about him, but does he care about that? Of course he doesn’t, because he is the Young Lord and detests tradition possibly even more than dried apricots.” She sighed, tracing circles in the smooth side of the urn with her flesh hand. 

“I caught an ibex today. It was rather large, if I do say so myself. A bit heavy to drag all the way back, but nothing I couldn’t handle. You should have seen the Young Lord’s face--it was like the Lunar New Year had come early, he was so delighted. He actually ran up and hugged me out of excitement, can you believe that?” Another soft laugh. “The Chang girl made a rather good stew out of it, but I could never tell her that, of course. Her head would swell even bigger than it already is.” 

Mei nearly huffed in indignation. Her head was a perfectly normal size, _thank you very much_.

“As I’ve said before, our camels are extremely temperamental. One even tried to throw the Young Lord. Or do camels even try to throw their rider? Whatever it was, he nearly fell off. Then he threatened to euthanize it once he became the Emperor, which would probably be for the best. We wouldn’t want anyone else to have to ride that beast.” She suddenly stiffened. “Hello, Mei. Should I go back and take second watch?” she asked without turning around, all too casually.

Mei started. “No, that’s all right. I can just wake Ling,” she responded, beginning to back away.

“No,” Lan Fan said softly. “Come. Sit.” She patted the sand next to her.

Usually, being ordered around like a dog to “come” and “sit” would have grated on her nerves--and by a mere bodyguard, no less. But there was something about Lan Fan’s voice, how she sounded both vulnerable and pleading, neither of which Mei expected from the usually impassive girl. And everyone knew you simply _didn’t_ disobey a direct order from Lan Fan, even as rarely as they were given.

So, she did the rational thing. She carefully sat down next to Lan Fan, close enough to not be rude but just far enough to not intrude on her personal space.

Lan Fan sighed. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it just as soon. Mei waited, curious. 

“Have you ever missed someone so much that you would do anything, absolutely anything, to get them back?” she asked suddenly, still clutching the urn.

Mei looked down, taking a deep breath before responding. “Yes.”

Lan Fan looked up in surprise. This obviously hadn’t been the answer she expected. Mei met her gaze steadily, keeping her own face as expressionless as possible. Hesitating, Lan Fan quietly said “If I may ask, who did you lose?”

Mei chewed her bottom lip. “My older sister.” She fought the familiar stab of pain that came with discussing her. How long had it been since she had even said her _name?_

For a minute, the only sound was the faint shifting of the sand. 

Mei continued. “Her name was Liling. She was eighteen when it happened. I was nine. She worked in the fields, like everyone did once they were old enough, even though she had a baby on the way.”

Lan Fan inhaled sharply.

Mei looked down again. “I know it seems wrong, to have a pregnant woman work in the fields, but we couldn’t make exceptions. If you didn’t work, you couldn’t eat. Only the youngest and the most elderly don’t have to.

“One day, a boy named Peng ran up to me and my mother at our house, where we were dyeing cloth. We could barely make out what he was saying, as he was gasping for air and could barely get a few words out at once. He told us--he told us there had been an accident.”

Lan Fan was silent.

“When we got to the fields, she was lying in a pool of blood, still alive, but just barely. Something had gone wrong with a scythe, but no one saw exactly what had happened. No one could do anything to save her, there weren’t any alkahestrists around. She just…” Mei trailed off. Licking her lips, she took a deep breath before continuing. “She just died. Right in front of me, my mother, and all the other field workers. It was right then that I decided to learn alkahestry. No one would have to die like that again, surrounded by people who wanted to help but couldn’t do a thing. Not if I could help it.”

Somehow, Mei found her thoughts turning to the pale-haired woman she had saved on the Promised Day; only days later she had learned that her name was Lieutenant Hawkeye. Had that not been similar? A woman lying in a pool of blood, surrounded by many who wanted to help but none that could?

Mei had been able to save her that time. She had been able to save a woman she hadn’t even known the name of, but hadn’t been able to save her own sister.

To her utter horror, she felt tears running down her cheeks. She swiped at them hurriedly, hoping Lan Fan hadn’t seen.

The two were silent for several minutes, each caught in their own thoughts. Mei realized she was sketching an alkahestry pentagram in the sand and hurriedly brushed it away. Lan Fan was staring straight ahead, still tracing circles on the urn’s side. 

“I’m sorry, Mei,” she said finally.

Mei blinked. That was the first time Lan Fan had used her given name--as a bodyguard significantly lower in status than the seventeenth princess of Xing, she had always used the honorifics “Princess Chang” or “Princess.” Normally, the casual use of her name would be insulting, but here, on this featureless sand dune, under an unforgiving silver moon that let no salty tear go unnoticed, it simply felt...right.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes.

Lan Fan stood up, sending a cascade of sand down the side of the dune. “We should be getting back. Someone needs to watch over the Young Lord.”

Mei followed suit. “Right.”


End file.
